


drive me crazy

by sad_goomy



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Lochnessshipping, Nessa is incapable of allowing herself to properly feel things, Pre-Relationship, Raihan is incapable of not making dick jokes, Sexual Tension, kbrr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_goomy/pseuds/sad_goomy
Summary: Nessa, without a shadow of a doubt, until the end of time, does not have a crush on Raihan, and she’d really appreciate it if people stopped asking her about it because it’s not funny and not at all true.Or, five times Nessa denied how she felt, and the one time she didn't.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Rurina | Nessa
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	drive me crazy

**one.**

Nessa isn’t sure why she’s always drawn to Raihan at these events. 

It’s not the first time they’ve attended the same charity tournament, and she gets the feeling this won’t be the last time that despite telling herself to not lean against the lockers next to him and let him rope her into a conversation, she does exactly that. 

And it goes more or less as it always does, starting off nice enough, nothing more than simple small talk to fill the waiting time, before devolving into some strange battle of wits over a petty argument that she’s already forgotten the origin of (but she’ll be damned if she’ll let him win it). 

Raihan shrugs, infuriatingly smug as he mumbles, “Just saying, you can’t really call yourself a gym leader if you don’t even have a rival.” 

The Hulbury gym leader bristles, straightening as her eyes go to a figure on a bench a few yards away. “I do – Milo.” 

They watch as Milo, unaware of the attention, continues to eat the gummy snacks he brought, holding one up to the light, giving it a squish between his bulky fingers, and then popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. It’s frankly adorable. 

Nessa fights the urge to slam her head against the lockers, Raihan raising a brow as he chuckles, “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” 

“Well at least I can beat him,” she snaps, looking up at him with a competitive spark in her eyes as she adds with a smirk, “What’s the score with you and Leon, again?” 

He frowns, eyes narrowing as he sucks air through his teeth and looks off to the right. “Low blow, Ness.” 

It is, and she knows it; the surprising part is that he keeps it to that and doesn’t bother blowing up at her. Raihan’s able to laugh most things off, but his rivalry with Leon has been a sore spot that the others have dutifully avoided mentioning, especially after he very nearly bit Piers’ head off after one too many teasing comments. 

The fact that all he’s doing is pouting feels strange somehow, in ways that Nessa doesn’t dare to think about, so instead she rolls her eyes. “Not like there’s much to hit down there.” 

Just like that, his smirk is back, as he lifts his brows and gives a far too nonchalant shrug. “I have a few people who can testify otherwise.” 

“You’re disgusting,” she mumbles, not nearly enough bite in her tone for her liking, and he’s already leaning over her again with that smug smirk. 

“You started it.” 

“What are you, five?” 

“It’s closer to nine.” 

He watches with absolute delight as her face slowly morphs from mild confusion to horrified realization, her cheeks coloring as she brings up a hand to swat at his arm. _“Raihan!”_

Before she can really lay into him, his name is called out as a cue to start heading towards the field, and he quickly jogs off to avoid her ire, cackling the entire time. She watches with an indignant frown, crossing her arms as she leans back against the lockers, forcing herself to look down at the ground by her feet rather than keep watching the tall gym leader’s form disappear. 

It’s how she misses Melony’s knowing look, the other gym leader walking past her with a raised brow as she purrs, “You two seem close.” 

Nessa flinches, looking up with a start and blinking before she regains her composure, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “If we’re close, it’s only so I can strangle him.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

Melony’s still smiling, still clearly unconvinced, and something about it digs under Nessa’s skin. It’s not like her and Raihan _aren’t_ friends or anything, but the implications, the knowing looks, just the suggestion that she could have a crush on a guy like that, that she’d ever be so lost in how she feels that she resorts to pulling pigtails like a primary school kid – it has her squaring her shoulders and summoning every ounce of indignation she has in her body. 

“Seriously, how anyone can stand him is beyond me.” 

The ice-type gym leader tilts her head and says the one thing that absolutely ruins Nessa. 

“Then why not just stop the conversation, dear?” 

She gapes at the older woman, struggles for air and words as she tries to cling to her defense, only to find that it’s gone up in smoke. Melony only watches, taking a sip from her water bottle and wiping her mouth, leaving behind a smile that sinks Nessa’s stomach. With a shake of the now empty bottle, she asks innocently, “I’m going to get some more water, would you like any?” 

All Nessa can do is close her mouth, shaking her head as she crosses her arms tighter against her body, left alone by the lockers with thoughts she doesn’t like. 

Crushes are frivolous, are for girls with nothing better to do than worry over people who won’t call them back. 

She doesn’t have a crush. 

(And she definitely doesn’t watch Raihan’s matches later that night, the fire in his eyes igniting something within her that she has no hope of extinguishing.) 

* * *

**two.**

Nessa yawns from her spot on Sonia’s living room floor, adjusting the pillows behind her. She’s sitting by the foot of the sofa, trying to not fall asleep as a scientist in the documentary Sonia picked out to watch drones on and on about carbon dating. Sonia, on the other hand, seems absolutely enthralled, lying on the couch above Nessa, not taking her eyes off the screen as she grabs another handful of popcorn from the bowl by Nessa’s legs. 

It can’t hurt to check her phone, then, see what everyone else is up to on Y-Comm, at least until they get back to the interesting bits. 

There isn’t much to scroll through, but she likes a cute photo Marnie posted of her and Piers after a show, and she leaves a comment on Diantha’s latest status about looking for a new photographer to work with. 

Then Raihan’s abs are in her face. 

She rolls her eyes, because _of course_ he has a new shirtless selfie up; this one’s under the guise of being a workout update, but the comments make it clear that he knows how to play to his audience. To be fair, he does have a nice body (purely objectively speaking), and the pose is interesting, with him using his tank top to wipe sweat from his brow, so that his muscles are nicely flexed. 

He’s taken some of her modeling tips, then, and so she clicks through to his profile, just to see if he’s applied it to his other photos and because the documentary is still on that one scientist with a dreadful monotone. 

There are several action shots from his latest slew of exhibition matches, and she pauses on one of him in a suit, the caption a mess of emojis and mentioning the upcoming annual League charity gala. She doesn’t give it a like, won’t give him that satisfaction, but she does think absent-mindedly that it’s her favorite on his profile. 

It turns out she’s wrong, and her favorite is directly below that one. He’s caught in a laugh, sleeves of his shirt pushed up pasts his elbows – and she doesn’t even have a thing for arms but it’s so hard to not notice how nicely toned his arms are like this – with his gloved hands holding a Jangmo-o upside down, the little Pokemon’s eyes and smile wide, clearly newborn and delighted with everything in the world. 

Raihan’s hair is falling out of its usual ponytail, and one corner of his mouth his higher than the other, and there’s something so candid and confident about the whole thing that Nessa pauses, feels the rest of the world dim as she stares at his arms and his smile and his shoulders and his eyes. 

“That’s a nice one to be drooling over.” 

She flinches, cursing herself for it when she hears Sonia’s hum of amusement. The bowl of popcorn is empty, and the documentary is paused. 

There’s no use trying to deny what she’s doing, so instead Nessa does what she does best with the topic of the Dragon Tamer and redirects, sets her face in a scowl as she mumbles, “I’m just trying to figure out how his captions can be so stupid.” 

“Really taking your time with it.” Sonia sits up, smirking at her friend’s wide eyes as she stretches out her back. “You've been scrolling through his account for a while now.” 

That damn insinuation again – it scrapes up against the walls she’s built, makes a terrible noise in her chest that has her irritated just to ignore the pumping of her heart and the flush on her cheeks. “What’re you saying?” 

“He’s fit. It’d make sense that you’d like him.” 

Sonia laughs as the pillow Nessa throws connects with her cheek. “Sod off.” 

“Nessa, c’mon, you’re hardly subtle about it,” she mumbles, placing the pillow on the other end of the couch and fixing the gym leader with one of her patented looks, perfected since the age of ten to let everyone around her know that she’s twice as quick on the uptake as them. 

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She knows exactly what Sonia’s talking about, what _everyone around her_ seems to be talking about, because it’s a realization that has been slowly dawning on her. Still, to put it into words would make it all the more real, would force her to have to deal with it, and if she’s gone this far in life without ever having to worry over some boy, then it’s too late to start now. 

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out. Eventually.” Sonia grabs the empty bowl, standing and heading towards the kitchen as she throws over her shoulder, “I’m getting more popcorn, want anything?” 

Nessa shakes her head as she turns back to her phone, half paying attention as she goes to exit out of Raihan’s account only to press the little heart icon below the photo of him and the Jangmo-o from three months ago. 

“Shit,” she hisses under her breath, feeling a rising tide of panic that she quickly pushes down with a deep breath. 

Yes, this is a bad look that gives away her lurking, but only if he sees it, and what are the chances of that? He has hundreds of thousands of followers, the most of any gym leader, so no doubt people are constantly going through his Y-Comm and liking and commenting. She can rest assured that as embarrassed as she might be, this’ll go unnoticed and blow over within an hour. 

Then a notification pops up and she groans. 

_**@fakeraihan4:** see something you like?_ 😏

She bites her cheek, Melony’s words bouncing around in her head. All she has to do is stop responding, and it’s what she should do because whatever feelings she has about him are only going to make things complicated and are easy to ignore, she swears. 

_**@nessa** **:** Just wondering why that Jangmo-o didn’t bite you _

_**@fakeraihan4:** at that early an age they usually avoid biting and instead just try to intimidate by rattling their scales _

He’s smart, a fact he likes to keep hidden from the public. After all, he has this persona of a laidback, approachable twenty something, and revealing that he’s had extensive training on dragon-type training and breeding, that he’s in charge of the vault because there’s no one who’s studied it more extensively (save for Sonia at this point), would ruin it. 

But she finds that she likes this side of him, sometimes saying something so blatantly, obviously wrong about how you can raise a Gyrados in the same way as a Flygon, just so he’ll be unable to keep from correcting her, from speaking so passionately about what he knows best. He’s not the most eloquent, but it gives him a sort of charm, one she wished he saw in himself and showed more of to the world. 

That’s a dangerous thought to follow, though, and luckily for her, he’s quick to undercut it with his next response sent in a matter of seconds. 

_**@fakeraihan4:** but hey, if you’re looking for biting... _

_**@nessa:** Don’t. _

_**@fakeraihan4:** something else you’d rather my mouth be doing?_ 👅💦

Heat is crawling up her neck, and she looks up to the ceiling with an audible groan; never before has she been so grateful that Sonia’s microwave is so loud. 

Another dangerous thought pops up into her mind, the kind she’s prided herself on not having since she was a hormonal teenager, and she’s quick to type out a response to keep from traveling down that path. 

_**@nessa** **:** Shut up. _

_**@fakeraihan4:** make me _

_**@nessa:** I’m blocking you. _

_**@fakeraihan4:** aw, but then how will we have these lovely talks sweetheart?_ **😘**

Nessa isn’t one for pet names. They’re too sappy for her taste, cloyingly sweet in a way that usually makes her skin crawl. The last boy she was seeing was a fan of them, would whisper them in her ear as soft as silk; it turned her off every time. 

But just the thought of Raihan whispering a saccharine “sweetheart” against her skin has her growing pleasantly feverish. He wouldn’t say it like a sweet nothing, but a challenge. She can picture his eyes glowing with it, can practically feel the growl in his chest, and her hands are pinned above her head as– 

“What’s got you blushing?” 

She slams her phone face down onto the blanket, Sonia raising a brow as she reenters with a bowl full of popcorn. Nessa reaches behind her on the couch for the remote, starting the documentary once more and so relieved to hear that awful monotone as she snaps, _“Nothing.”_

When she gets home that night, she takes an excruciatingly cold shower. 

It doesn’t help. 

* * *

**three.**

She reminds herself that legally, Raihan has to be here. 

But is he under the same legal obligation to flirt with anything that moves? 

To be fair, he’s not explicitly flirting so much as just charming everyone at this photoshoot. Most of the people here have never been inside the vault, and so he’s more than happy to explain the tapestries and other historical tidbits as he keeps an eye on things. He’s just here to make sure nothing happens, that they don’t break out any of the lights he specifically told them would fade the threads, but it seems like this entire photoshoot has naturally pivoted to center entirely around him. 

Nessa keeps her face in the pout that the photographer wants, posing with three other models, all dressed in long gowns of embroidered silk and fur stoles. She’s a professional, so it’s little work to make her expression neutral even when she can see Raihan by the craft services table, a gaggle of models batting their eyes at him. 

The second they get the shot, she’s handing off her fur to a nearby stylist and stomping over there under the guise of getting a glass of water. 

Whatever aura she gives off is more than enough to have the other models scatter (and though she doesn’t see it, Raihan’s eyes immediately lock onto her form, his sentence trailing off in a way that makes it clear they’ve all lost his attention anyway). She grabs a glass and pitcher, filling it and careful of her lipstick as she takes a long gulp, staring a hole into the stone wall across from her. 

She can feel him sidle up next to her, the warmth that he brings and the chuckle that lands right at her ear despite the noise of everyone setting up the next shot. “Whoa, who pissed in your cereal this morning?” 

“Some of us are trying to work here and would appreciate it if you stopped distracting the other models.” Her glare remains directed at the wall, and she sets her glass down a little more forcefully than she means to. She forces herself to take a deep breath, to calm down because she has no right to be this upset over something imagined. 

When she finally looks up at him, he’s looking right through her, leaning in close enough that she can smell the aftershave he put on. 

“Can’t help that I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.” 

For just a moment, she really feels like the only girl in the room, and it’s laughably pathetic that the thought of him singling her out makes her stomach giddy enough to flip. 

They’re literally surrounded by models, and not to mention all the gorgeous women he comes across in his day to day, in his own ad campaigns he does. She bites down on her cheek, feels bile rise at the thought and she hates this rollercoaster he’s put her on with just a few words. 

“Just keep it in your pants, okay?” she mumbles, turning to look at the rest of the room and crossing her arms. 

He grins. “But Nessie, it hardly fits.” 

She rolls her eyes as she plays her part, one of dozens of girls he talks to like this, undoubtedly. “Starting to think all these stupid comments about your size are just to compensate.” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

“None of these lines actually work, you know.” 

He raises a brow, his own eyes scanning the room as he says loftily, “They seem to be a hit with the others.” 

“Good for you. Want an award?” she snaps before she can bite her tongue, voice absolutely acrid. As cathartic as it feels to say, she knows it’s a stupidly petty comment to make, and she knows it betrays too much of her hand when she looks up at him out of the corner of her eye to find him stunned, staring at her with wide, amused eyes. 

“Careful there, Nessa,” he chuckles with an undercurrent that’s equal parts giddy and nervous, even as leans in and whispers soft as a purr, “Someone might overhear and start to think you’re jealous.” 

It hits her chest, just above her heart and reminds her that this is a joke to him, that she’s the punchline he likes to come back to and nothing more, and she certainly wants nothing more. “Please, there’s nothing to be jealous of.” 

He hums thoughtfully, and there’s something shockingly sincere in his tone. “No, not when we both know you’re my favorite.” 

She looks up at him, her stomach twisting again, and she wonders if she’s ever going to get off this stupid carnival ride he’s put her on, if she event wants to at this point. 

“Favorite what?” she whispers, and he’s so close now and they’re so close, brushing right up against what they’ve been dancing around for months now, what she’s still so scared of. 

His eyes flicker to her lips. 

Then his face cracks into a shit-eating grin and her shoulders deflate as she sinks back into the familiar, much safer, territory of exasperation. 

“Sea monster.” 

“Arceus, I hate you.” She sees a makeup artist with an open chair, decides it’s more than time to get her face touched up and get back to work, to not being distracted by the only person in the region who makes her feel small. With a huff, she brushes past him, muttering, “And fine, do whatever you want, I don’t care. Not like you can keep your eyes on any one girl for more than five minutes.” 

The rest of the shoot goes smoothly, and she forces herself to focus on the photographer and stylists, and the lights blind her to the fact that Raihan stands further behind the camera, eyes fixed to every move she makes, looking at her like a devout follower might a saint. 

* * *

**four.**

The after party to the League season kick-off always gets a little rowdy, especially when Raihan decides he can drink anybody under the table. 

And he can – anybody but Nessa, apparently. 

They’re at the bar later than anyone else, and Nessa knows it’s time to go when Leon and Sonia disappear to somewhere. She closes their tab, making a note on her phone about how much Raihan owes her, and then comes the monumental task of getting the drunk back to the Budew Hotel where everyone’s staying the night. 

He cooperates fairly well, though it’s definitely a sight getting him to stand up and lean on her without falling over. She curses under her breath, sure that a few of the other bar patrons are trying to sneak a photo or video on their phones. At least she’s not the one slurring her words, and with Raihan’s next level PR instinct, he’ll no doubt find a way to make a joke about this in the morning and bounce back into the good graces of the public. 

The fact that he can fall back on the “good vibes only” shtick he’s developed for himself makes it all the easier, and she really does wonder how no one else has picked up on just how smart he is. 

Then he’s singing the Hoenn Rangers theme song as he nearly steps on her foot and she takes it back, deciding that at least in this moment he’s an idiot. Despite his shenanigans, including pleading to stop at any late-night takeaway spot they pass, they make it to the hotel without incident, and her inhibitions are low enough from the shots she’s taken that she doesn’t even hesitate with reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet to get his room key. 

He hums, leaning against the wall, looking up at the ceiling with a dopey smile that has no business being as attractive as it is on him. “You’re real nice for doing this.” 

“You’re drunk,” she mutters, getting the door open on the third try and turning to him, ready to get him inside, only to find him frowning down at her. 

“How come I don’t get to compliment you?” He shakes his head, staggering despite the fact that his entire body weight is on the hallway wall. His gaze is unfocused as it travels over her, but it still sends a shiver through her that he’s luckily too far gone to notice. “Everyone else compliments you and you smile for them, and when I compliment you, you just brush me off and get mad. S’cute, but it means you never smile at me.” 

She raises a brow. “So?” 

“I like your smile.” 

It’s so simple and earnest that it takes her aback, leaves her blinking up at him and trying to keep the room from spinning. She shakes her head, which makes it worse, and then she’s sneaking an arm around him and guiding him into the hotel room as she whispers, “You’re really drunk.” 

“Hmm, maybe, but I think about it a lot.” The door closes behind them, and his tall body seems to wrap around her as she guides him to the bed in the center of the room. “I think about _you_ a lot. Ya really drive me crazy, Nessa.” 

Her cheeks are on fire and her mind is too horrendously sober for him to be saying this; she wishes she’d taken him up on that victory drink. “Shut up, Rai.” 

“Make me.” 

He’s leaning down, enveloping her in the smell of liquor and mint and something that’s distinctly him. His voice and eyes are every bit the challenge he usually has for her, but his tongue drags across his bottom lip in a way that has the end of every single one of her nerves electric and looking to connect with a spark. 

She puts a hand over his mouth. 

Her giggle ends in a hiccup as his brows furrow, eyes going cross-eyed as he looks down at her hand. She nearly tries to use it to push him onto the bed, but then she feels something warm and wet drag across her palm. 

“You’re so gross!” she shrieks, retracting her hand as he continues to poke his tongue out, reveling in the victory. She lets go of him entirely, trying to wipe his saliva off onto her jeans as she glares at him. 

“M’sorry.” He staggers, and he’s clearly not sorry at all, but she lets him pull her into a hug, mostly because he genuinely might fall over otherwise. His lips are by her temple, breath warm enough to make her eyes close. 

“But you were supposed to kiss me.” 

And then her eyes are snapping open, air punched out of her lungs. “What?” 

His hum vibrates through his body, passing into hers before he lets go, stumbling until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he sits down less than gracefully. He shrugs, the movement lethargic and sloppy, and his expression is thoughtful. “I say something stupid like that and then you kiss me. Hasn’t really worked before but I thought it had a shot.” 

She reminds herself that he’s drunk, so drunk that he probably won’t remember a thing in the morning, that he probably doesn’t mean a word of this unless it’s to make fun of her, so she spits, “I’m never going to kiss you.” 

“Oh, okay.” He falls back, arms spread wide as his body bounces once on the mattress, springs creaking. After a second, he pokes his head up, locking eyes with her as she feels rooted to the hotel carpet. “You sure?” 

“Positive.” 

If it were under any other circumstances, she would laugh at his face right now, at how it looks physically painful for him to form a thought, but she finds she can’t do anything but stare and let dread creep over her. “That mean you don’t like me? Like, like-like me?” 

Her palms are sweating, and she feels her voice waver despite clearing her throat. “We’re barely friends.” 

He lets his head fall back, and the quiet is heavy on her chest as she watches him stare up listlessly at the ceiling. “Huh.” 

She should leave with what little sanity she has left, but instead she wants to indulge this curiosity that’s been gnawing at her for weeks, this question she can’t get out of her mind the more time she spends around him, the more sure she grows that there’s something in how he looks at her. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, just...I had this giant crush on you for a while now, and I thought – I dunno, should’ve figured you didn’t feel the same.” He rolls over onto his side, and she can see his face now, with a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something so soft about him, as he curls up slightly, feet still dangling off the bed as he does his best to shrug. “Figured we were at least friends.” 

It should be everything she hoped for, a clear rejection that makes her the girl she once was, before she had him haunting her every thought, her every move. 

But instead, bile’s rising and she’s stepping towards him, forcing herself to stop as she shakes her head and tries to fix something that feels broken before it ever became hers. “I-I didn’t mean–” 

“Aw hey, it’s okay. Good to know, y’know? Still sucks, though.” He reaches a hand up, idly rubbing her bare arm, and she’s leaning into the touch. When he stops, she nearly steps closer, but then he’s pulling his hand back and giving her a smile that shatters her heart. 

“I _really_ wanted to kiss you. Just once, just to know what it’d be like.” 

Her throat is tight, and she definitely wishes she had another drink so that she wouldn’t remember this either, so that she wouldn’t have to face him and know with no uncertainty that for as long as she’s known him, she’s been carving a spot into her heart just for him. 

And now that it’s empty, she doesn’t think anything else could fill it. 

“Raihan...” 

“I like when you say my name,” he whispers, all honey and gravel as he yawns. Then his face falls into a frown, and she’s forcing herself to step back, because this is what she wanted, after all. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say stuff like that, huh?” 

She reaches for the door handle behind her, unable to take her eyes off him. Her voice is small, more timid than she’s ever been because of course only when she finally pulls away does she realize how she wants him to pull her in. 

“You should really sober up.” 

In the morning, a wave of nausea hits her not because of the hangover, but because she realizes even sober, she can’t deny it anymore. Nessa, the raging wave, the region’s top model, is absolutely useless with a crush that scares her more than any battle ever has. 

When Raihan texts her an hour later, apologizing and asking if he said anything weird, she nearly types out the truth, nearly takes it all back because she wonders what it might be like to give in, wonders if it’s worth it to see that small, quiet side of him and bury herself within it. 

Then she deletes that text and replies that he didn’t say much at all. 

* * *

**five.**

Nessa usually doesn’t mind the charity gala. If anything, she likes the opportunity to get dressed up, and it’s a nice chance to catch up with the rest of the League since everyone’s here. 

Which means that Raihan is here. 

Raihan, who she’s been diligently avoiding since that one night in Motostoke, dodging his calls and barely responding to his texts for over two weeks now. 

She’s on high alert throughout the event, throws herself into networking and making the rounds, always looking out of the corner of her eyes for any sign of him. But it tires her out, makes her feel like prey scurrying around rocks to avoid the Mandibuzz, and eventually she has to slow down if only because her feet are starting to hurt. 

When she tucks herself into a corner of the hotel ballroom for a break, she can feel his eyes on her and forces her body to relax. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re avoiding me.” 

She looks over at him, and he’s wearing the same suit from that one Y-Comm photo, only it looks so good in person that it’s downright offensive. With a quick breath, she turns to look back out at the ballroom, keeps her voice clipped and forces her mind to remain blank rather than fill with all the snapshots and moments of him that she’s memorized. “Good thing you know better.” 

He hums, stepping just a hair closer and noting how her body stiffens. “You didn’t answer my text.” 

“It was too stupid for a response.” 

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” He chuckles, but it falls flat, and he’s tilting his head to observe her. She feels like he can see every single inch of her, can see straight through this exterior, and it nearly has her shaking as she meets his gaze. His brows furrow, concern painting his tone as he lowers his voice to ask, “Ness, seriously, what’s up?” 

Her mind flashes to the vault, when he said she was his favorite, and then it’s going to the hotel room, and she looks straight ahead, setting her jaw. 

“Maybe I don’t feel like getting into a screaming match with you at a public event.” 

He leans down, breath hot against the shell of her ear and so close that she can feel the shape of his smirk. 

“But I like making you scream.” 

Everything hits her at once and she’s struck with the thought that yes, she wants him to kiss her. She has no idea what she wants after that, but she knows that she desperately wants his lips on hers after months and months of this stupid merry-go-round they’ve been trapped on. 

She checks to make sure no one in their immediate vicinity is paying attention, and then she’s grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the ballroom and into the nearest supply closet as he stumbles behind her. 

“What are you–” 

He nearly trips over a mop, and she’s turning on the light and slamming the door shut behind her, running on pure adrenaline and pent-up desire when she turns to him, every bit the storm at sea that she knows herself to be. 

“I’m going to kiss you.” 

His lips part, eyes widening, and though he has to hunch to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, he looks so incredibly small in this moment, voice barely above a whisper as he stammers, “P-pardon?” 

Now she falters, feels the wave within her slowing. Maybe he really was too drunk to be saying anything truthful, maybe she’s read this all wrong – maybe it was for the best that she stayed in denial. 

“Do you not want me to?” 

He searches her face in the dim light, shakes his head slowly. “You’re acting really odd right now.” 

She huffs, takes a step closer and feels emboldened when he doesn’t back up, when he seems to even be leaning towards her, eyes tracing the neckline of her long slip dress. “Look I’m trying to prove something so just kiss me.” 

What she’s trying to prove remains to be seen. For now, with him looking at her like she’s grown a third head and the panic rising, she’s clinging to the hope that all this is just a bout of sexual frustration she’s projecting onto him. Once they kiss, the chemistry will fizzle, and she’ll truly be Nessa once more, won’t need him in the ways that she dreams of. 

Not that she dreams of him, of course. 

“You’ve officially lost the plot,” he mutters, exhaling a nervous laugh before swallowing hard. 

She feels something within her snap, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re the one who’s not giving me a straight answer!” 

“Because it's a weird question that you just sprang on me!” He seems to remember himself then, loosening his tie, Nessa’s eyes drawn to the movement. 

When she looks back up at him, he looks so torn, so confused, so absolutely not how she pictured this going that she feels herself having to blink back hot tears of embarrassment. Clearly, she’s not the level-headed girl who’s above a frivolous crush that she thought she was, but she didn’t expect the rejection to hurt this much. 

“If you don’t want to kiss me then just say it,” she mumbles, already defeated. 

He’s quiet – it's not a no, but it’s also not a yes, and it only adds to the pit of shame forming in her stomach. With a sigh, she turns, intent on getting out of this supply closet and maybe falling off the face of the planet while she’s at it. 

His large hand wraps around her wrist, freezing her as she looks back at him and finds a hunger beneath the hesitation in his eyes, and then he’s pulling her closer, slow and waiting for her to pull away. 

She doesn’t. He closes the final gap between them. 

It’s not the wild, feral thing she sort of imagined it being; if anything, he’s reverent, passionate but clearly practicing every ounce of self-restraint he has. He kisses her like she’s too good to be true and he draws it out, slow and deliberate but getting messy with want at the edges. 

Her hands grab at his shoulders, and she pulls him down, flush against her, and keeps trying to get him closer because he makes her feel small but in a way that has her skin warm and feverish. He responds to her in kind, cupping her face with one hand, the other trailing down her body, not so much teasing as adoring, settling around her waist and keeping her melting against him. 

When his lips pull back, she very nearly whimpers, but then his mouth is on her neck, leaving a trail of fire, and for as devout as he’s being, she very nearly prays, his name falling from her like a hymn. “Raihan.” 

He groans, nosing at her pulse and looking at her with half-lidded eyes. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” 

And she knows that, but the way he says it breathes a new truth into the word. How is it that she can have herself so figured out only for him to come and flip it on its head, makes her question everything she once believed? 

She pulls him back up, and this kiss is far less measured, far more desperate, and she only breaks it when she’s gasping for air, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath and finds that she can’t, not when he’s staring at her like a man starved, her lipstick smeared over half his face. 

The lipstick she’s wearing to the charity gala they’re both still at, at which she’s a professional who should be networking and not shoving her tongue down some guy’s throat, no matter how smart or hot or perfectly Raihan he is. 

This is bad. 

This is very, _very_ bad, she realizes, because he kisses her like she never even thought she could be kissed, and whatever hold he might have had on her before is increased tenfold rather than fizzling out. 

His eyes search hers as she pulls away, his confusion meeting her fear as he whispers, voice absolutely wrecked and fragile, “Nessa?” 

“Don’t read anything into it.” 

She reaches for the door handle, feels her flight response carrying her out so she can panic somewhere private, so she can double down on shoving all these strange feelings out of her, so she can be who she was before she met him, even if it was a worse version of herself. 

When she turns to close the door, the light from the hallway floods in and she can see how he looks at her like a kicked Rockruff, hurt and confused, and it takes everything in her to not start crying then and there. 

She closes the door and runs for the nearest bathroom, but no matter how much cold water she splashes on her face, the fire they’ve started won’t go out. 

* * *

**one.**

Tomorrow, Nessa is scheduled against her first battle of the season. In years past, she’s spent the days leading up to it focused entirely on perfecting her new technique, training with laser-focus as she finalizes her newest playbook of strategies for the year. 

This year, instead, every inch of her mind is occupied with thoughts of Raihan, of what to say, what to do the next time she sees him. She can’t come up with anything, and so she avoids him, hopes that every day she spends away from him will help the feelings fade. 

They grow stronger and explode into a strike of lightning when she wakes up this morning with a text from him, stating that they need to meet up when she has a chance. 

She doesn’t respond, her heart hammering away at her ribcage as she instead brushes her teeth and throws on her workout gear. Going for a jog always clears her mind, and at the very least it can give her an excuse for the shot of adrenaline in her blood that doesn’t boil down to the Dragon Tamer, to the one boy who can make her feel small and happy about it, to the shitshow of a carnival she’s set up for herself just to avoid the inevitable. 

The fresh sea breeze does wonders for her as she winds her way through Hulbury. She takes her usual path, allowing her mind to shut off and focus only on her breathing and the ache beginning in her legs. It isn’t anything too rigorous, but it has her calm once more as she reaches the end of it, the lighthouse at the bay. 

And then everything within her is vibrant and shaking because of course Raihan knows she would be doing this and he’s sitting at her favorite bench with a smoothie in his hands. 

It feels like a healthy dose of karma, that he gets to look so put together for this moment and she’s literally sweating, face flushed as she catches her breath. 

For a moment, she considers turning around and running right back home, but he holds the smoothie out to her, a peace offering, and she knows now is the time for them to both finally get off the roller coaster. 

She takes a seat, accepting the smoothie and not at all surprised that it’s from the stand in the marketplace she’s mentioned to him before. As she takes a long sip, staring out at the expanse of sea before them, he takes a deep breath, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees and rub at his temples. He looks tired, maybe even downright exhausted, and a pang of guilt shoots through her. 

After all, she’s not the only one who’s been stuck on the roller coaster. 

“We need to talk.” 

She bites the straw, feels her heels dig in despite herself. “What about?” 

“What about? Are you _kidding_ me, Ness?” His head whips to her, face caught in an incredulous but humorless laugh as he stares right through her. “You swear up and down that you don’t like me, that we’re not even friends, and just when I’m starting to think that you might really hate me, you pull me into a closet and kiss me so hard I almost cum in my pants like a goddamn teenager.” 

_“Raihan–”_

“So what we need to talk about is what you think we are, because at this point I sure as hell don’t know.” 

He keeps looking at her, and she can feel the heat of his gaze despite keeping her own eyes on her lap. She takes another long sip from the smoothie, tries to collect the right words and feels herself failing, because it’s so hard to know what to say around him, to be three steps ahead when he’s always able to keep up effortlessly. 

“We’re coworkers,” she finally mumbles, the words falling clunky between them. 

Raihan raises a brow. “You’re kissing all your coworkers like that?” 

“Piss off.” 

He sits back, letting out a sigh as she puts aside the smoothie, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Look, no judgment if you’re looking for a no-strings-attached sort of deal, but I can’t.” 

She feels a flare of indignation, of hurt, as she rolls her eyes. “What, I’m not good enough for the Dragon Tamer?” 

“Arceus, no, I – _ugh_.” He runs a hand down his face, and she watches him as it becomes his turn to avoid her eyes, to look out at the sea instead. For all his usual bravado, now in the quiet he looks just as confused as when she left him at the gala, and he’s as small as he was in the hotel room, and Nessa realizes something she should’ve long ago. 

This isn’t a one-sided power struggle. As much as he has made her feel small and driven her up walls and invaded her dreams, she’s done something similar to him – it's strangely comforting to think that she has some modicum of power over him, that she’s never been reduced to helpless. 

But right now it twists her stomach, because with that thought comes the second realization that she’s abused that power, that she’s gone and let herself lose control just to hurt one of the people she cares most about. 

He looks over at her, shoulders slumped as he mutters, “Look, I know I must’ve let something slip when I was hammered, so Meowth’s out of the bag: I want you, a lot. More than as just a shag, so if you’re not interested, tell me now, because whatever we’ve been doing is killing me, Nessa.” 

She genuinely doesn’t know what to say, and she doesn’t know how to deal with that when no one’s made her speechless before, so she opens her mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind. 

“You’re infuriating.” 

With a resigned sigh, he stands up with a curt nod. “Got it.” 

But she stands with him, grabbing his hand to keep him in place, feeling herself growing flustered as he turns his surprised gaze onto her. She doesn’t let go of his hand, finds that she can’t even as she rambles, “No, it’s just...it was so _easy_ before I met you. I didn’t care what people thought about me, nothing got under my skin, and then I meet you and I suddenly care so much all the time. And no one’s had that power over me and you’re such an ass about it, but I can’t stop talking to you and it’s so frustrating.” 

He takes a moment to think, and then his brows are furrowing. “Still getting mixed signals here.” 

“Well what do you want me to say?” she huffs, a familiar frustration taking over. He faces her head-on, and he’s intertwining his fingers with her as he becomes more serious than she’s ever seen him. 

“Do you like me, yes or no?” 

She blanches, quick to scowl to cover it up. “We’re not in primary school.” 

“Answer the question.” 

“Fine.” 

The silence begins to stretch into something uncomfortable, but try as she might, Nessa truly can’t find her voice. She opens her mouth, only to close it, repeating the process enough times that she’s sure she looks like a Magikarp. Mew, this really would be easier if she like him less, if she didn’t have so many feelings swirling within her, all clamoring and fighting to get out first. 

His face begins to fall, and he looks off to the side. “Look, you’re not gonna hurt my feelings, so just–” 

“Yes.” 

“–tell me no and...” He blinks, looking down at her with parted lips as she stares back up at him in her own shock. “Wait, what?” 

She takes a deep breath, squeezes his hand as she says slowly, “Yes, Raihan. I like you. Arguably too much, and who knows why, but I do.” 

He’s so still that she nearly takes it back, but then his face is splitting into the widest grin she’s ever seen from him, and his eyes are impish as his voice is nearly sing-song. 

“You like me.” 

“Stop,” she groans, feeling heat crawl up her neck and turning. 

Raihan laughs, hugging her from behind with the hand that isn’t holding hers, keeping her close as he rests his chin on top of her head. “Oh man, Nessie had a crush on me, how embarrassing.” 

It’s just as teasing as he was before, but now she can pick up the notes of adoration, the hidden warmth that was always there to be uncovered. She rests a hand over his arm, not even trying to pry it away from her body – if anything, she’s keeping it in place – as she rolls her eyes. “You had a crush on me, too!” 

“Yeah but I was cool about it.” 

“What was that comment about kissing you so hard you almost–” 

“All right, all right – _mostly_ cool about it.” He turns her around to face him, and he’s smirking down at her, and she decides that the cockiness really does suit him, that it’s just another side to him that she’ll always like, if only to take him down a peg. “And lucky for you, I’m guaranteed to be the coolest boyfriend you could get. Some might argue I’m even out of your league.” 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile growing on her face. “Shut up, Rai.” 

He leans down, competitive spark back in his eyes. “Make me.” 

And she kisses him, wiping that smirk right off his face and drowning in the tenderness that is so much better without the denial. 

**Author's Note:**

> these two are a simultaneous power and disaster couple, depending on the day
> 
> if you wanna come scream with me over these two, I'm on tumblr at sad-goomy


End file.
